-
Tickets, Please!
D. H. Lawrence
1919
There is in the
Midlands a single-line system of tramcars which
boldly
leaves
the
county
town
and
plunges
off
into
the
black,
industrial
countryside,
up
hill
and
down
dale,
through
the
long,
ugly
villages
of
workmen's houses, over canals and
railways, past churches perched high
and
nobly
over
the
smoke
and
shadows,
through
dark,
grimy,
cold
little
market-places,
tilting away in a rush past cinemas and shops down
to the
hollow
where
the
collieries
are,
then
up
again,
past
a
little
rural
church
under the ash-trees,
on in a rush to the terminus, the last little ugly
place
of industry, the cold little town
that shivers on the edge of the wild, gloomy
country
beyond.
There
the
blue
and
creamy
coloured
tramcar
seems
to
pause
and purr with curious satisfaction. But in a few
minutes
—
the clock
on
the
turret
of
the
Co-
operative
Wholesale
Society's
shops
gives
the
time
—
away
it
starts
once
more
on
the
adventure.
Again
there
are
the
reckless swoops downhill, bouncing the
loops; again the chilly wait in the
hill-top market-place: again the
breathless slithering round the precipitous
drop under the church: again the
patient halts at the loops, waiting for the
outcoming car: so on and on, for two
long hours, till at last the city looms
beyond,
the
fat
gasworks,
the
narrow
factories
draw
near,
we
are
in
the
sordid streets of the great town, once
more we sidle to a standstill at our
terminus, abashed by the great crimson
and cream-coloured city cars, but
still
jerky, jaunty, somewhat daredevil, green as a
jaunty sprig of parsley
out of a black
colliery garden.
To
ride
on
these
cars
is
always
an
adventure.
The
drivers
are
often
men
unfit
for
active
service:
cripples
and
hunchbacks.
So
they
have
the
spirit
of
the
devil
in them.
The
ride becomes a
steeplechase. Hurrah!
we
have leapt in a clean jump over the
canal bridges
—
now for the
four-lane
corner! With a shriek and a
trail of sparks we are clear again. To be sure a
tram
often
leaps
the
rails
—
but
what
matter!
It
sits
in
a
ditch
till
other
trams come to haul it out. It is quite
common for a car, packed with one
solid
mass of living people, to come to a dead halt in
the midst of unbroken
blackness, the
heart of nowhere on a dark night, and for the
driver and the
girl-conductor to call:
'All get off
—
car's on fire.'
Instead of rushing out in a
panic, the
passengers stolidly reply: 'Get
on
—
get on. We're not coming
out.
We're
stopping
where
we
are.
Push
on,
George.'
So
till
flames
actually
appear.
The
reason
for
this
reluctance
to
dismount
is
that
the
nights
are
howlingly cold, black
and windswept, and a car is a haven of refuge.
From
village to village the miners
travel, for a change of cinema, of girl, of pub.
The trams are desperately packed. Who
is going to risk himself in the black
gulf
outside,
to
wait
perhaps
an
hour
for
another
tram,
then
to
see
the
forlorn
notice 'Depot Only'
—
because
there is something wrong; or to greet
1
a
unit of three bright cars all so tight with people
that they sail past with a
howl of
derision? Trams that pass in the night!
This, the most dangerous tram-service
in England, as the authorities
themselves declare, with pride, is
entirely conducted by girls, and driven by
rash
young
men,
a
little
crippled,
or
by
delicate
young
men,
who
creep
forward in terror. The girls are
fearless young hussies. In their ugly blue
uniforms,
skirts
up
to
their
knees,
shapeless
old
peaked
caps
on
their
heads,
they have all the sangfroid of an old non-
commissioned officer. With
a tram
packed with howling colliers, roaring hymns
downstairs and a sort
of antiphony of
obscenities upstairs, the lasses are perfectly at
their ease.
They
pounce
on
the
youths
who
try
to
evade
their
ticket-machine.
They
push off the men at the end of their
distance. They are not going to be done
in the eye
—
not
they. They fear nobody
—
and
everybody fears them.
'Hello, Annie!'
'Hello, Ted!'
'Oh,
mind
my
corn,
Miss
Stone!
It's
my
belief
you've
got
a
heart
of
stone,
for you've trod on it again.'
'You should keep it in your pocket,'
replies Miss Stone, and she goes
sturdily upstairs in her high boots.
'Tickets, please.'
She is peremptory,
suspicious, and ready to hit first. She can hold
her
own against ten thousand. . The
step-of that tram-car is her Thermopylae.
Therefore there is a
certain wild romance aboard these
cars
—
and in
the
sturdy
bosom
of
Annie
herself.
The
romantic
time is in
the
morning,
between ten o'clock and one, when
things are rather slack: that is, except
market-day
and
Saturday.
Then Annie
has
time
to
look about her.
Then
she often hops off her car and into a
shop where she has spied something,
while her driver chats in the main
road. There is very good feeling between
the
girls
and
the
drivers.
Are
they
not
companions
in
peril,
shipmates
aboard this careering vessel of a
tramcar, for ever rocking on the waves of a
stony land?
Then, also, in the easy hours the
inspectors are most in evidence. For
some reason, everybody employed in this
tram-service is young: there are
no
grey heads. It would not do. Therefore the
inspectors are of the right age,
and
one,
the
chief,
is
also
good-
looking.
See
him
stand
on
a
wet,
gloomy
morning in his long oilskin, his peaked
cap well down over his eyes, waiting
to
board a car. His face is ruddy, his small brown
moustache is weathered,
he has a faint,
impudent smile. Fairly tall and agile, even in his
waterproof,
he springs aboard a car and
greets Annie.
'Hello,
Annie! Keeping the wet out?'
'Trying to.'
There are only two people in the car.
Inspecting is soon over. Then for
a
long and impudent chat on the
footboard
—
a good, easy,
twelve-mile chat.
2
The
inspector's
name
is
John
Thomas
Raynor:
always
called
John
Thomas, except sometimes, in malice,
Coddy. His face sets in fury when he
is
addressed, from a distance, with this
abbreviation. There is considerable
scandal
about
John
Thomas
in
half-a-dozen
villages.
He
flirts
with
the
girl-conductors in the
morning, and walks out with them in the dark night
when
they leave
their
tramcar
at
the
depot.
Of
course, the girls quit
the
service frequently. Then he flirts and
walks out with a newcomer: always
providing she is sufficiently
attractive, and that she will consent to walk. It
is remarkable, however, that most of
the girls are quite comely, they are all
young, and this roving life aboard the
car gives them a sailor's dash and
recklessness.
What
matter
how
they
behave
when
the
ship
is
in
port?
Tomorrow they will be
aboard again.
Annie,
however, was something of a Tartar, and her sharp
tongue had
kept John Thomas at arm's
length for many months. Perhaps,
therefore,
she liked him all
the more; for he always came up smiling, with
impudence.
She
watched
him
vanquish
one
girl,
then
another.
She
could
tell
by
the
movement of his mouth
and eyes, when he flirted with her in the morning,
that he had been walking out with this
lass, or the other the night before. A
fine cock-of-the-wall he was. She could
sum him up pretty well.
In
their subtle antagonism, they knew each other like
old friends; they
were as shrewd with
one another almost as man and wife. But Annie had
always kept him fully at arm's length.
Besides, she had a boy of her own.
The
Statutes
fair,
however,
came
in
November,
at
Middleton.
It
happened
that
Annie
had
the
Monday
night
off.
It
was
a
drizzling,
ugly
night, yet she dressed herself up and
went to the fairground. She was alone,
but she expected soon to find a pal of
some sort.
The roundabouts
were veering round and grinding out their music,
the
side-shows
were
making
as
much
commotion
as
possible.
In
the
coconut
shies
there
were
no
coconuts,
but
artificial
substitutes,
which
the
lads
declared were fastened into the irons.
There was a sad decline in brilliance
and luxury. None the less, the ground
was muddy as ever, there was the
same
crush,
the
press
of
faces
lighted
up
by
the
flares
and
the
electric
lights, the same
smell of naphtha and fried potatoes and
electricity.
Who should be
the first to greet Miss Annie, on the show-ground,
but
John
Thomas!
He
had
a
black
overcoat
buttoned
up
to
his
chin,
and
a
tweed
cap
pulled
down
over
his
brows,
his
face
between
was
ruddy
and
smiling
and hardy as ever. She knew so well the way his
mouth moved.
She
was
very
glad
to
have
a
'boy'.
To
be
at
the
Statutes
without
a
fellow
was no
fun.
Instantly,
like
the
gallant
he
was, he took her
on the
dragons,
grim-toothed,
round-about
switchbacks.
It
was
not
nearly
so
exciting as a tramcar, actually. But
then, to be seated in a shaking green
dragon,
uplifted
above
the
sea
of
bubble
faces,
careering
in
a
rickety
fashion
in
the
lower
heavens,
whilst
John
Thomas
leaned
over
her,
his
3
cigarette
in
his
mouth,
was,
after
all,
the
right
style.
She
was
a
plump,
quick, alive little creature. So she
was quite excited and happy.
John Thomas made her stay on for the
next round. And therefore she
could
hardly for shame to repulse him when he put his
arm round her and
drew her a little
nearer to him, in a very warm and cuddly manner.
Besides,
he
was
fairly
discreet,
he
kept
his
movement
as
hidden
as
possible.
She
looked down, and saw that his red,
clean hand was out of sight of the crowd.
And they knew each other so well. So
they warmed up to the fair.
After
the
dragons
they
went
on
the
horses.
John
Thomas
paid
each
time, she could but be complaisant. He,
of course, sat astride on the outer
horse
—
named
'Black
Bess'
—
and
she
sat
sideways
towards
him,
on
the
inner
horse
—
named 'Wildfire'. But,
of course, John Thomas was not going
to
sit
discreetly
on
'Black
Bess',
holding
the
brass
bar.
Round
they
spun
and heaved, in the
light. And round he swung on his wooden steed,
flinging
one leg across her mount, and
perilously tipping up and down, across the
space,
half-lying
back,
laughing
at
her.
He
was
perfectly
happy;
she
was
afraid her hat was on
one side, but she was excited.
He threw quoits on a table, and won her
two large, pale-blue hatpins.
And
then,
hearing
the
noise
of
the
cinema,
announcing
another
performance, they
climbed the boards and went in.
Of
course, during these performances, pitch darkness
falls from time to
time, when the
machine goes wrong. Then there is a wild whooping,
and a
loud smacking of simulated
kisses. In these moments John Thomas drew
Annie
towards
him.
After
all,
he
had
a
wonderfully
warm,
cosy
way
of
holding a girl with his arm, he seemed
to make such a nice fit. And, after
all, it was pleasant to be so held; so
very comforting and cosy and nice. He
leaned over her and she felt his breath
on her hair. She knew he wanted to
kiss
her on the lips. And, after all, he was so warm
and she fitted in to him
so softly.
After all, she wanted him to touch her lips.
But the light sprang up,
she also started electrically, and put her hat
straight. He left his arm lying
nonchalant behind her. Well, it was fun, it
was exciting to be at the Statutes with
John Thomas.
When the
cinema was over they went for a walk across the
dark, damp
fields. He had all the arts
of love-making. He was especially good at holding
a girl, when he sat with her on a stile
in the black, drizzling darkness. He
seemed
to
be
holding
her
in
space,
against
his
own
warmth
and
gratification. And his
kisses were soft and slow and searching.
So Annie walked out with
John Thomas, though she kept her own boy
dangling
in
the
distance.
Some
of
the
tram-girls
chose
to
be
huffy.
But
there,
you must take things as you find them, in this
life.
There was no mistake
about it, Annie liked John Thomas a good deal.
She felt so pleasant and warm in
herself, whenever he was near. And John
Thomas
really
liked
Annie,
more
than
usual.
The
soft,
melting
way
in
4
which she could flow into a
fellow, as if she melted into his very bones, was
something rare and good. He fully
appreciated this.
But with
a developing acquaintance there began a developing
intimacy.
Annie
wanted
to
consider
him
a
person,
a
man;
she
wanted
to
take
an
intelligent interest in him, and to
have an intelligent response. She did not
want a mere nocturnal
presence
—
which was what he
was so far. And she
prided herself that
he could not leave her.
Here
she
made
a
mistake.
John
Thomas
intended
to
remain
a
nocturnal presence, he had no idea of
becoming an all-round individual to
her. When she started to take an
intelligent interest in him and his life and
his character, he sheered off. He hated
intelligent interest. And he knew
that
the
only
way
to
stop
it
was
to
avoid
it.
The
possessive
female
was
aroused in Annie. So he
left her.
It was no use
saying she was not surprised. She was at first
startled,
thrown out of her count. For
she had been so very sure of holding him. For
a while she was staggered, and
everything became uncertain to her. Then
she
wept
with
fury,
indignation,
desolation,
and
misery.
Then she
had a
spasm of despair. And
then, when he came, still impudently, on to her
car,
still familiar, but letting her
see by the movement of his eyes that he had
gone away to somebody else, for the
time being, and was enjoying pastures
new, then she determined to have her
own back.
She had a very
shrewd idea what girls John
Thomas had
taken out.
She went to Nora Purdy. Nora
was a tall, rather pale, but well-built girl,
with beautiful yellow hair. She was
somewhat secretive.
'Hey!' said Annie,
accosting her; then, softly: 'Who's John Thomas on
with now?'
'I
don't know,' said Nora.
'Why tha does,'
said Annie, ironically lapsing into dialect. 'Tha
knows
as well as I do.'
'Well, I do, then,' said Nora. 'It
isn't me, so don't bother.'
'It's Cissy Meakin, isn't it?'
'It is for all I know.'
'Hasn't he got a face on him!' said
Annie. 'I don't half like his cheek! I
could knock him off the footboard when
he comes round me!'
'He'll
get dropped on one of these days,' said Nora.
'Ay, he will when somebody makes up
their mind to drop it on him. I
should
like to see him taken down a peg or two, shouldn't
you?'
'I shouldn't
mind,' said Nora.
'You've
got
quite
as
much
cause
to
as
I
have,'
said
Annie.
'But
we'll
drop on him one of these days, my girl.
What! don't you want to?'
'I
don't mind,' said Nora.
But
as a matter of fact Nora was much more vindictive
than Annie.
One
by
one
Annie
went
the
round
of
the
old
flames.
It
so
happened
that
Cissy
Meakin
left
the
tramway
service
in
quite
a
short
time.
Her
5